Humble-born on a winter night. With heads
Held high he dreamed his eyes could face the
Light. Ground was cold, the world was dumb,
But something made him leave for good.
All alone he walked across the wastelands.
Gaps to cross with scratches on his feet.
Still walking on.
Garing city-lights, that blind his eyes.
Something wakes up and rises fast to oversize.
Then it dies.
Skin on skin and lips that make him fly,
Secret flavours all around, feelings run high.
Silent heat, that rises fast to oversize.
Then it dies.
Still moving on.
No doubt he could be wrong.
Still feeling strong.
Something's coming up, a kind of weakness.
Doubts disturb his constant flow of life.
Roads are blocked, the signs, they say no access.
Still walking on.